I Should Go
by lovelielove
Summary: A moment shared in the kitchens at Hogwarts during winter holidays of HBP.  What will develop when Hermione and Snape share a few cups of tea?
1. Chapter 1

AN: Not mine. Please don't sue. My take on an old theme. Inspired by a beautiful song by Levi Kreis.

I Should Go - Levi Kreis

Here we are  
Isn't it familiar  
Haven't had someone to talk to  
In such a long time  
And it's strange  
All we have in common  
And your company was just the thing I needed tonight  
Somehow I feel I should apologize  
Cuz I'm just a little shaken  
By what's going on inside

I should go  
Before my will gets any weaker  
And my eyes begin to linger  
Longer than they should  
I should go  
Before I lose my sense of reason  
And this hour holds more meaning  
Than it ever couldI should go

I should go  
Baby, I should go

It's so hard  
Keeping my composure  
And pretend I don't see how  
Your body curves beneath your clothes  
And your laugh  
Is pure and unaffected  
It frightens me to know so well the place I shouldn't go  
I know I gotta take the noble path  
Cuz I don't want you to question  
The intentions that I have

I should go  
Before my will gets any weaker  
And my eyes begin to linger  
Longer than they should  
I should go  
Before I lose my sense of reason  
And this hour holds more meaning  
Than it ever could

I should go  
I should go  
Baby, I should go

I don't mean to leave you with a trivial excuse  
And when you call tomorrow, I'll know what to do  
I should go  
Before my will gets any weaker  
And my eyes begin to linger  
Longer than they should

I should go  
Before I lose my sense of reason  
And this hour holds more meaning  
Than it ever could  
I should go  
I should go  
Baby, I should go

I Should Go

Hermione felt miserable and admittedly pathetic. Whoever said that Christmas was the most wonderful time of the year was obviously intoxicated or demented. She rather felt that the statistics supporting the idea that the holiday season was the most depressing were quite reasonable and logical. Between the painful fallout with git extraordinaire, Ronald Weasley, the departing of Harry and Ginny and the majority of the students, and being suddenly unable to return home for the winter break due to a spontaneous impulse on her parents' part to take a second honeymoon in Tahiti, 17 year old Hermione Granger's spirits were at an all time wretched low.

She had been looking forward to a break from all the emotional turmoil of teenage hormones and the ever hovering cloud of doom that lingered around Hogwarts. Soon after Harry, Ron, and Ginny had left for the Burrow, she received a scroll from McGonnagal indicating her parent's wish that she remain at Hogwarts for the holidays and communicating their promise to make it up to her by taking her somewhere grand over the summer. She'd mournfully unpacked her trunk in an empty dormitory. She was the only 6th year Gryffindor still at the school and wouldn't have had anyone to talk to anyway unless someone from her own small band of friends had also stayed. Even among her friends she felt like a disparate part. Her brilliant leaps in logic and love of learning as often engendered admiration Harry and Ron as it isolated her from them. Very few others had taken the time to know her beyond her brain and friendship with the Chosen One. So when her few friends were either away or fighting with her, she was left all alone.

Sitting on her neatly made bed for a few moments, a heavy wave of loneliness overwhelmed her. She dashed frantically at the infuriating tears with her hands and took a few shaky breaths.

Hermione calmly brushed any remaining wetness from her face and made her way determinedly out of Gryffindor Tower. It was't yet supper time so she had some time to find a project to keep her mind distracted until the other students returned and classes began again. Her trainer clad feet led her, naturally, to the comfort of the library. However, after only a few minutes of restlessly pacing between stacks, she began to feel a bit over warm in her plain muggle jeans and the fitted black jumper she almost never wore because of Crookshank's tendency to turn it orange. Hermione did find a very old book regarding Defense Against the Dark Arts Theory that she thought she might read in her spare time and checked it out from Madam Pince. Still, not having a goal made her edgy and full of nervous energy. So, instead of making herself at home at her favorite table, she walked back into one of the main corridors and began to wander in the empty halls, searching for a purpose.

Hermione didn't encounter a single soul, not even the ghosts. It was strange to see the big castle so empty. She supposed she'd never noticed when she had remained for the Christmas Hols because she'd always had company. She wondered if it was her imagination or if there were actually less students staying behind than there were in years before. Her thoughts were as pointless as her wandering, but it felt centering to let her them flow naturally without censure. She could visit some of the professors. Professor Sprout had mentioned planting tentacular bulbs soon in Greenhouse 1. Hermione was walking down the main, staircase into the Entry Hall reflecting that Hagrid would be a pleasant visit - unless he cried all over her because of Aragog. Poor Hagrid. She walked down another staircase, the large, leather-bound tome hugged to her chest, lost in her musings. Perhaps she might even find Professor McGonnagal and request extra Transfiguration work or offer to assist in something useful. _Oh! That would be perfect_, she thought. Perceiving the possibility of a challenge, Hermione lifted her chin and felt marginally better.

Glancing around, Hermione realized she was in a familiar corridor and down a ways on the wall was a painting of a bowl of fruit and a particularly ticklish pear. Of course! S.P.E.W. had been put on the back burner for so long that she had even considered dissolving the organization. She hadn't talked to the elves by herself before… Maybe… She reached out, a vague plan of interviewing house elves forming, and tickled the pear which shook with giggles and let her in.

The kitchen was as large as she remembered, the same dimensions as the Great Hall above. The ovens were bright, but most of the sconces on the walls and overhead chandeliers were left unlit. What had been bright and loud and busy in her memory was shadowed and quiet and peaceful. The wafting scents of baking bread and roasting chicken smelled divine. However, there were far fewer elves than what she remembered. Only four elves were bustling about preparing the evening meal on a much smaller scale. "Hello?" she called to one of them.

This elf, in a very clean and pressed tea towel, with a very pointy little nose and very long lashed large eyes, turned and squeaked at the sight of Hermione. "I is sorrys miss! Whats can I do for you?"

Hermione smiled kindly to her? him? it. "I was wondering if I might ask you some questions."

"You absolutely may not, Ms. Granger," a deep, familiar voice snapped from one of the shadows on the wooden long prep tables and she started.

"Granger!" the little elf piped in recognition and scurried away, back to the other elves who were eyeing her with fear. "Please no clothes, miss!"

"I only-"

"Leave them be, stupid girl. They like it here," Professor Snape drawled.

Hermione sighed her disappointment. Clutching her book to her chest she turned to face the shadow and gazed into it, willing her eyes to adjust. She slowly made him out. Professor Snape sat on a long bench, almost slumped over the table, wearing black robes she'd never seen before and on the bench beside him sat something round, and almost flat, a little of the oven firelight glinting silver off of it. He saw her gaze and moved the large disc like object into the folds of his robes. "Have you come for a snack, Professor?" she asked conversationally. He said nothing, seeming very tense. "Excuse me?" she turned her head slightly to the frightened elves still cooking. "Could we get a tea tray, please?" And she walked to sit next to the Professor, seeing as how walking around the long table would be senseless.

"What are you doing, Granger?" he growled. She wasn't afraid or put off by his gruffness. This was Professor Snape, current DADA teacher and former Potions Master of the school, member of the Order of the Phoenix. This was the man who had unhesitatingly jumped between herself and a werewolf, the man who Dumbledore trusted so utterly. This was the man who, though cruel and strict, was the best teacher she'd had in all her years at the school.

"I'm going to pour us tea." And as she said it, the pointy nosed elf popped in and out between them, leaving a tray laden with tea pot, two cups and saucers, and little sandwiches and sweet biscuits. Hermione poured the fragrant tea into the cups and set one in front of Professor Snape, correctly assuming he didn't want sugar or milk. Taking a sip of hers, she asked, "What brings you here to the kitchens, sir?"

"That is one of your business," he snapped. Reluctantly, his own hand snaked out to grip the warm cup and bring it to his lips. Taking a deep gulp, tension seemed to leak away from his shoulders and he released a barely audible sigh. "I came here to avoid people and be alone," he admitted in a pointed murmur. "An objective you are making rather difficult to achieve."

"Well, you've thwarted my objective by revealing my name to the elves. I think I'll stick around to thwart yours," she answered primly, placing her cup and saucer down just so.

Snape let out a srangled sound that seemed almost like a laugh. "You, Granger, are insufferable," he said, half accusing, half amused, but didn't order her to leave. Then he noticed the book perched upon the bench on the other side of the girl. "Ah, _Defense Theories: Protection from the Dark Arts. _A good reference. Are you trying to ingratiate yourself with me?"

Hermione scoffed, picking up the book and placing it on the table in front of them. "Really, sir. You don't honestly think I'd walk around with this book in hopes that I would bump into you and you'd be impressed. I just borrowed this from the library a bit ago and came here. How was I to know you were already here in the kitchens? The text book you assigned this year has been the best yet for DADA, however I find myself looking for the references to read them first hand. It sticks better that way. And besides, I don't read to please anyone but myself." She selected a little cucumber sandwich from the tray and ate it whole to stop herself from rambling even more.

The Professor gazed at her, thinking that he had done the same as a student. Any reference listed at the back of his texts, he went out of his way to find and read. "Hm. I suppose you've already read _The Unforgiveables: Lessons In the Darkest Arts?" _he asked, then took another warming sip of tea, hoping in the dim light that she couldn't see his hands trembling.

She let out a little sound of disgust. "Tch, no! The book has been checked out for the past two months!" she waved her hands in frustration. "I've already read _Defense Theories _twice, but there are some gaps in my notes and I'd love to get my hands on that… book." Hermione's voice trailed away as she caught Professor Snape watching her with a strange expression on his face. She blushed furiously and was thankful for the dark. "Sorry, sir," she muttered. "It's only a book, right? Or at least that's what Harry and that idiot Ronald would say. What's one less?" Besides, she couldn't actually tell the boys she was looking for DADA books, or she was sure she'd get the mickey taken out of her for trying to impress Snape - Which was patently NOT what she was trying to do. "I only want to understand," unable to keep the bit of wistfulness out of her voice.

"Understand what, Ms. Granger?" Snape asked, placing down his empty cup and saucer.

"More, sir?" He nodded and she poured him another cup. "I suppose I want to understand what it is about it that tempts people so. From what I've seen or read of the Dark Arts, it is full of disgusting practices and madness. I don't think anything could persuade me to use them."

Professor Snape shook his head. "You have hardly scratched the surface then, girl. The Dark arts are a seductive call to power and lures the weak to take up it's mantle. Many wizards and witches attempt a small dark charm, usually for self advancement, thinking it can't hurt. However, they are more often than not drawn into it's clutches all too easily and one small charm turns into a slightly more advanced spell and that turns into a nasty curse."

The girl seemed to be absorbing his words, staring into her tea. When she spoke again it was to herself. "It's fascinating- the domino effect one dark spell can have on a person's life. I'd love to know more."

He sneered at that. "Can't wait to try it yourself, Granger?"

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts she spat, "That's just stupid! Don't be ridiculous! I would never…" and remembered, a little late that she wasn't talking to her friends, but to Professor Snape. Her eyes widened a bit in embarrassment. She'd just told Professor Snape that he was ridiculous and had stupid ideas… which in all honesty, it was a stupid idea - Hermione wanting to try a dark spell. But still. "I- I didn't mean…"

Professor Snape had only one dark brow raised at her. She cringed and buried her face in her hands for a moment. He'd take away points now and specify that he wasn't one of her little friends to be talked to like an idiot. However, instead of the sharp snap of his angered voice, she only heard him scoff. "Are your friends so stupid that you have to tell them not to be often enough for the words to accidentally slip out? It's pathetic."

At this she raised her face in indignation, her voice suddenly shrewish even to her own ears. "I am not pathetic! And neither is Harry! He only sometimes makes rash choices without thinking things through, but he's much improved now." Then she darkly muttered to his enjoyment, "Maybe Ronald is pathetic, the prat."

Professor Snape said nothing about Harry, but the line of his shoulders seemed tense again at his name and he said dryly, "Weasley? Pathetic? Owl the Prophet! What extraordinary news." Hermione rolled brown eyes at him. "What has he done to deserve your scorn? Has he tried to put his ape hands on you and disappointed you? I could have predicted such an outcome even without Professor Trelawney's tarot cards."

At this she laughed a brittle laugh. "The red ape would hardly put his hands anywhere near this dried up bookworm when lovely latching Lavender is available. And I mean _available." _She muttered again, "The git."

Though he didn't show it, Snape was astonished. Weasley would rather have that twit, Brown, rather than Granger? The Brown girl, as far as he knew of her from his potions and DADA classes, was an overly made up, artificial, airheaded, dimwit. Whereas, while Granger was a bushy haired know-it-all, she was much more sincerely caring of other students and artless in her appearance with such an open, candid face that anyone could read her emotions at anytime. Why he was thinking that was good thing in these times, Snape wasn't quite sure himself, but it was. "The girl's an dunderhead," he stated, though not to make Granger feel better.

Hermione laughed, "I know. She once asked me how worms make wormwood."

Professor Snape eyes looked heavenward, shaking his head in disgust and Hermione smiled. And for many minutes they sat in comfortable silence, sipping their tea and snacking from tray in the nearly empty kitchen.

For Hermione, it was like coming home. Someone to chat with over a cup of tea was what she missed most about her parents. Whether the chat was bout an academic interest or a social setback, her mum's kitchen table was the best place to deal with problems. Ronald and even Harry were hardly reliable when it came to providing an attentive ear. They were both stuck on their own problems, Harry's usually legitimately important, Ron's usually selfish and inconsiderate. Professor Snape… listened. It was strange and yet so very, very comforting. He wasn't nearly as intimidating as he usually was. At first he seemed to be trying very hard to scare her away, but that edge seemed to have left him a bit. It was learning the sound of his laugh that was like a prize for her ability to withstand his coldness. It felt surreal now to be sitting alone with him and feeling so secure.

For Professor Snape, it was like an oasis in the desert. He'd entered the kitchens, unable to quite make it to his own rooms after returning from a particularly pain filled meeting with the Dark Lord and his loyal Death Eaters. While, the killing curse was Voldemort's favorite, the Cruciatus was only a close second. He'd made it to Albus to report what he'd learned and was on his way back to his dungeon quarters when he'd nearly collapsed outside of the fruit portrait. He'd been shaking and recovering alone in the dark of the kitchen when she rushed in ready to harass the elves. He'd snapped at her then, hoping she'd leave the kitchens more than leave the elves alone, but she'd stayed. She not only stayed, she poured him tea the way he liked, and didn't tremble at his thundering and bluster. It was exactly what he needed. However, he was sure that wouldn't be the case if she had known where he'd been only a little earlier that day. He'd had to quickly hide the hated silver mask in the folds of his robes before her clever eyes could light upon it and draw the correct, but devastating conclusion that her respected, and reviled, professor was a Deatheater. For some reason, he immediately couldn't bear the idea of Hermione Granger of all people, finding that out. He knew that Potter and Weasley never had a considerate thought for him and couldn't care less, but he also knew that Granger had always respected him, sought his approval, and even trusted him. She was one of the few people in the world who did.

When he pulled himself out of his thoughts it was to find Granger watching him from beneath her surprisingly long, sooty lashes. "Would you like more tea, sir?" He was startled to see he'd finished his second cup and nodded again. He watched her pour the tea, her movements graceful and practiced. She took another cup as well, adding half a spoon of sugar. As she stirred her still steaming tea with her spoon, he noticed with a shock that Hermione Granger had elegant hands, long and fine-boned with smooth, creamy skin. The creamy texture was echoed on the curve of her exposed neck above the slight v of her black jumper and beneath the wild mane of hair and on an expanse of skin tantalizingly revealed between the low slung waist of her muggle jeans and hem of her black jumper. For a moment his eyes lingered on that expanse, a sudden urge to run his fingers across it to see if it was just as smooth as it looked caused him to jerk out of his again wandering thoughts. _Merlin_, what was he thinking? Granger? A _student? _He felt suddenly and completely disgusted with himself, but what else was new?

"Professor?" she queried.

"Yes?"

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For letting me stay here with you. I've been feeling really low lately and it's just nice to have someone to talk to, even if it's only a little while." He said nothing.

She brought her tea cup up to wrap her mouth around the lip and he watched her eyes close in appreciation of the flavor and saw her tongue slip between her lips to lick away the extra moisture. He almost groaned aloud. Gulping down the rest of his tea, he felt the abrupt need to apologize for his thoughts, but swallowed that as well. He stood suddenly, needing to get away from this mirage. Hermione Granger was not his oasis, those thoughts were only illusions. "I should go," he rasped out gruffly. _Before my mind goes farther into where it shouldn't. _

She looked up, disappointment in her eyes. "Oh. A-alright. Perhaps another time, Professor?" she wasn't sure what prompted her to ask, to practically invite him to tea again.

He thought for a moment. "Perhaps. Good day, Granger." Professor Snape murmured. And he was gone from the kitchens in a silent whirlwind of black robes and flashing black eyes. For a long time, Hermione sat alone and reflected on solitude, but then decided it was way overrated, beginning to form a plan.

AN: Not sure if this is a one shot or not. Complete for now - with potential for future additions? Not satisfied with my next couple chapters of Cooks in the Kitchen, so still tweaking. Also working on Winter Wonderland. Thanks for reading. Please review and tell me what you think. Should I continue this, too?

-lovelielove


	2. Chapter 2

AN: This is for you, my lovely reviewers! By popular (kinda) demand - A continuation of my one-shot, I Should Go. This one shot has transformed into three chapters. Enjoy and review please!

* * *

A few days later...

Hermione Granger sat at alone at a table in the nearly empty Great Hall on Christmas Eve. She gazed intently at the words in a thick volume of a leather-bound text and scratched notes on her parchment while distractedly eating a piece of toast, a cup of tea and her inkwell at her elbow. Overhead, the enchanted ceiling displayed a cold, roiling, steely grey sky and along the walls the cheerful Christmas trees glittered warmly. The few students who still remained in the school during the winter holidays had already come, eaten their breakfast among the glittering Christmas trees, and gone on their way to enjoy their free time. The teachers also quietly trickled in and out of their seats chatting quietly across the staff table, though Hermione took no notice. Her eyes were glued to the page in front of her as she scribbled with her quill. She raised the feather to dip it into the bottle of ink and found her hand half submerged in lukewarm tea. "Ugh!" she lifted her dripping hand in the air and let the quill fall onto the parchment, dotting it with tea and ink and almost staining her book. "Shit," she grumbled, reaching for a napkin.

"Language, Ms. Granger." Hermione started and spun in her seat only to have to tilt her head back to see the person addressing her. Professor Severus Snape stood just behind her, dressed in his usual black, arms folded.

"Professor Snape," she tentatively smiled at him, wiping her hands on a napkin. His face was sternly disapproving, but there, just there at the corner of his mouth, a twitch upward. She blotted the parchment and table absentmindedly. "Good morning, sir. I was just-"

"Nearly destroying a 400 year old text? Yes." He raised his brows. "I saw."

Hermione glanced around the now empty Great Hall, back at the ruined tea and quill, at the open book on the table and then again at Professor Snape, wondering if she ought to initiate her vague plan to befriend him. "Fortunately, the only thing permanently destroyed is my tea. I'm afraid I'll have to pour myself a fresh cup." She reached out to tidy up her place and shut the tome. "Shall I pour you one as well, sir?" she asked casually without looking at him except to spy through her lashes.

It was his turn to jump slightly. His arms uncrossed and he took an unconscious step back. "I-" and for a moment he seemed as though he was truly tempted. "No. Thank you, Ms. Granger."

She only nodded acceptingly at him, not offended in the least. Gathering up her supplies in her arms, she stepped away from the bench to face her potions professor. "I think I'll finish up in the library. I suppose I'll see you at supper. Will you be going to the Christmas feast?"

Hermione stood less than a foot from Snape, her face tilted slightly. He bowed his head in the affirmative and caught her eyes swiftly sweeping lower on his face and catching on his straight set mouth. His own gaze mirrored hers and was drawn to slightly parted lips. For a breathless moment they froze, and both wondered at the sudden tension. They hesitated, knowing the other also felt the flare of… attraction? heat? But Hermione blinked, took a deep breath and, stepping to the side, walked sedately out of the Great Hall without a second glance. Professor Snape stood, rooted to the spot, his slight scowl not revealing the depth of his disquiet. He mentally shook himself and stalked to his seat at the staff table. Immediately a cup of pumpkin juice and a breakfast plate appeared before him.

Before he even tasted his first bite, Slughorn's jovial voice boomed from a few chairs away, "Ah, Severus!" Snape grit his teeth, praying to any deity that could hear him for patience. "Just in time, my good man, just in time!" Snape's portly replacement waddled away from the harassed and offended looking Professors Vector and Flitwick with a folder in his hand. "I was just showing everyone the photographs from my Christmas Party! They've been absolutely delighted to see this year's Slug Club and my old students who've gone on to bigger and grander things!" Slughorn struggled to settle himself into a narrow chair with a grunt and proceeded to to shuffle through the photographs. "As a matter of fact, I do believe I have one of you, Severus!" At that, Snape sat up straight and gave the still prattling man his full attention. "Hm, it's in here somewhere. Ms.-"

"I do not recall posing for a photograph, Horace," the DADA professor interrupted cooly.

Still thumbing through the glossy pictures, Slughorn replied, "Hm? Oh, no, no, my boy. I think it was a candid shot taken by - Ah! Here it is!" He pulled out a brightly colored print and presented it to Snape as proudly as if he had taken the photo himself. There, to Snape's consternation, stood Granger and McLaggen his arm snaking around her waist, a tight, irritated look on her face, and behind them, being jostled by Slughorn was his own image. He wasn't doing anything particularly interesting, but Granger… She was stunning. Breathaking in a way he hadn't noticed that evening and wouldn't have noticed even now had he not developed this certain awareness of her.

Her skin glowed healthily in the candle light and her hair was pinned neatly away from her face. She was flushed pink from annoyance or embarrassment. And the dress. The girl hadn't been someone he'd even glanced toward at the time, let alone the dress she wore. But it was seemed a revelation to him now. It showed off how very unlike a little girl she had become. Subtly slinky and clingy in the right places, but wispy and delicate in a stirringly feminine way. Ignoring Slughorn's prattling on, a niggle of concern grew upon his dark brow as he contemplated the completely inappropriate thoughts he was having about the young woman in the photo. But then he noticed her slight sneer.

He almost laughed when he caught her shudder of disgust as she tried to subtly shift out of McLaggen's arm while posing for the photographer. "… do love that ensemble of mine. A bit too festive for anything but the holidays unfortunately. The velvet, you know. I must say, Severus, you might do well with some color in your own wardrobe! I showed this picture to Ms. Granger not ten minutes ago. She noticed you and I in the background here. Insisted that black is a classic fashionable color when I mentioned that you might look good in purple or blue. Pretty little thing, that girl. And quite bright! Almost as talented as Mr. Potter. Shame she's rather shrewish. Told me outright that I ought to give you this photograph. Suggested it was selfish of me not to share prints of the party, though I am the most generous person I know. Well, here you are, my good man." Slughorn's fleshy hand pressed the picture into Snape's hand. "I have duplicates and who am I to keep others from enjoying my party even after it's over?" With that, the portly professor pushed away from the table and waddled his way toward another teacher, waving his photographs in the air.

Why had she told Slughorn to give him this picture? Professor Snape toyed with the edge of the photo as his eyes roamed over its subjects. Both he and Ms. Granger had similar expressions of distaste as she tried to extricate herself from the McLaggen boy and he from Slughorn. At least the girl had some sense of preservation. McLaggen had a reputation for his insensitivity and vulgarity when it came to the fairer sex.

"Ah, Severus," said Dumbledore, interrupting his thoughts. "What have you there?"

Snape pocketed the photograph hastily, replying nonchalantly, "A souvenir from our potions professor. The only picture of Horace and I from his Christmas party." Dumbledore stood behind him, eyes twinkling. "And how are you this morning, Headmaster?"

"Fine, fine! A bit tired, though, I'm afraid. I've just returned from an errand as a matter of fact." And truthfully, despite the twinkle, Snape could see how much Dumbledore had aged in the recent months in the deepening circles beneath his half moon spectacles and the frailty, carefully hidden, of his body.

"You should rest." Snape gave his superior a pointed look.

"Yes, I probably should. Poppy would agree with you in a heartbeat, actually, but, as they say - 'there is no rest for the weary,'" he said dismissively. "I need to have a private word with you, Severus, regarding the student we spoke of previously. Perhaps, this evening?"

A cold stone settled in Snape's stomach. He meant Draco, naturally. Damn, the stubborn, prideful boy. "Of course, sir."

"Good, good. I shall be in my office any time after supper. Good day to you."

As the Headmaster walked to his own seat for breakfast, Snape stood up from the staff table, his plate full and long grown cold, his stomach empty and appetite gone.

Meanwhile, in the library, Hermione had newly arranged her parchment, quill, and book on a study table, but had not yet looked at the pages again. She sat quite still in her chair in stunned contemplation. The rough plan of befriending her DADA professor with more tea had unearthed something unexpected after her first attempt. What had just happened in the Great Hall? Had she felt a moment of attraction to her _teacher_? Had she noticed a moment, a flicker, of reciprocal attraction in _his_ face? Was she imagining things, as lonely as she had been only a few days ago? Her heart was still pounding heavily and she could feel the prickle of heat in her cheeks and neck that told her she was blushing. There was a telltale warmth and curl below her belly that revealed her very physical reaction to the man. How very… unexpected. Where had that come from? He was brilliant, of course- one of the most intelligent people she had ever met. But what _else_ could have shis sudden pull on her.

Severus Snape, from the very beginning of their acquaintance, had proved to be malicious, biased, and often times cruel. Despite being a member of the Order of the Phoenix and having Professor Dumbledore's complete trust - general opinion of Professor Snape maintained that he was still untrustworthy.

And yet. He'd saved Harry's life and her own in more than one instance, putting his own at risk. And he accepted her company alone one night in the Hogwarts kitchens.

Hermione sat for a very long while, thinking on Severus Snape the man versus Professor Snape, bat of the dungeons. Her well organized mind held him up to her other standards of male appeal - Ronald Weasley, Victor Krum, and Daniel Day Lewis. _One of these things is not like the other… _the little tune trilled in her head. Professor Snape fit rather neatly into that category when Ron, whose only similarities lay in height and lankiness, was removed from the equation. Snape was quiet, moody, dark haired, sallow skinned, with brooding eyes, and expressive eyebrows.

Merlin, this was becoming more than a little disquieting. Hermione shook her head sharply, trying to clear her mind of distracting thoughts of Severus Snape. At least she could honestly say that, before today, before seeing and really looking at the picture of Professor Snape in well-cut robes at the Slug Club's Christmas party, she had never ever consciously considered his physical attractiveness - like the width of his holders or the narrowness of his hips. But now that she thought of it, there was a very nice ratio happening there, resulting in a pleasant v-shaped torso. She shook her head again.

Definitely disquieting.

Hermione sighed, unstoppered her ink, and picked up her quill, determined to restart her research. She stared at the blank parchment and, in an odd moment of perfect clarity, something clicked into place - she, Hermione Granger, was attracted to Professor Severus Snape. Bloody hell. She had a _crush _on her Defense Against the Dark Arts professor!

She let her forehead fall forward and thunk solidly on the table as she groaned aloud. "Oh, for heaven's sake," she muttered.

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AN: 9.15 I can't tell you how long it took for me to choose Daniel Day Lewis as one of Hermione's "standards of male appeal." I hope someone appreciates that. I always get stuck on the most obscure little facts.

I had hoped to have the 3rd part to this little story up and going, but give me a few days so that I can fine tune and edit! Then this story will be closed for good and I can go on with Cooks and Winter! Best Kept Secret is on hold for a while.

Please review! I can't tell you how much even a word or two really means to me.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: 8/25 What?! An update?! I know. I'm shocked, too. I _am_ working on all of my WIPs, but you know how it is - real life sucks all of my creative energy most days and I'm lucky to write a paragraph in a week. Please enjoy this new chapter - I had a lot of ideas on where this little one-shot would go - but it has a mind of its own and now I'm thinking it may turn into five chapters instead…

* * *

A few hours later...

Hermione woke with a start. She didn't at first know where she was or what had roused her, disoriented as she was from a disturbing dream in which she had been trapped in a dark room where the door covered walls revolved, the lights on the walls were only a blue smudge around her, and every door certainly led to a menacing hooded figure and a silent, fiery purple streak of pain. Hermione rubbed the phantom pain away from her chest.

Her back ached as she lifted her head imperceptibly and she could scent the familiar aroma of old books. From beneath her cheek and arms came the rustle of parchment being displaced as she shifted. In other words, all the usual clues that informed her that she had once again fallen asleep hunched over a desk mid-research. Most likely in the library. She straightened up, clasped her hands together, and raised her arms above her head in a stretch.

Still in a bit of a fog, Hermione cracked her eyes open toward a nearby window. It was already dark out, a crescent moon casting the shelves and her table in a monochrome of grey and shadow. She'd spent all of Christmas eve in the library. Brilliant. Trying to avoid thinking about a certain black haired professor, she had lost herself in research on the origins and effects of the Dark Arts and the last Hermione could remember checking the hour was when she realized she had missed the noon meal. Hermione shrugged it off at the time, reasoning that she could just eat a bit more at supper, but already she felt a gnawing ache in her stomach.

This was the consequence of choosing the farthest table from the library doors and deepest in the stacks. While there were no students or teachers to disturb her, there was also no way the normal hustle and bustle of the school could penetrate this far into the library to give a sense of time passing. And now, the thought of walking through a very dark and most likely deserted library in what might be the middle of the night, caused a sliver of unease to settle in her bones. The dark shadows weren't what scared her, but the things that could be lurking within them.

She reached for her wand. She had twisted her hair up and away from her face some time before she had dozed off, inserting her wand to keep it in place. When she pulled the stick out, her hair fell around her shoulders in a cloud of curls. "Lumos," she whispered. Her wand tip lit immediately. Hermione stood and quickly straightened her notes and shut her book by the glow of her wand, the crinkle of parchment obscenely loud in the silence, determined to make her way back to the Great Hall to see if she truly had missed supper. She heard a sound, far off, like the flutter of fabric. She paused in the act of placing her papers atop her book and held her light up. The glare of her wand illuminated only the row of shelves she stood in, barely penetrating the darkness. "Hello?" she called, her voice was hoarse from sleep. No answer came. Only the startling and booming sound of what might be something heavy falling on the floor or a table. A book? A boot? A body?

The flicker of unease she had felt grew rapidly into terror. A memory of being chased by Death Eaters in the Hall of Prophecies flashed across her mind. Visions of Death Eaters having stormed the castle while she slept made her heart jump into her throat. Hermione broke out into a cold sweat and gripped her wand tightly, putting out the light nonverbally. She carefully walked toward the end of the shelf, only half breathing, and spied around its corner into the walkway. Every sconce and lamp in the library was unlit and it was impossible to see if there were Death Eaters lying in wait, but if she looked straight ahead eighty yards or so, the walkway led directly past the checkout desk and to the closed doors, silhouetted by the second floor corridor's lights. She debated her options briefly, whether she should sneak or run to the doors, when she realized she was being ridiculous. The sound she heard was most likely a book losing its way as it sought to replace itself back on the stacks.

Hermione laughed shakily and whispered, "Lumos," again, intending to turn around to gather her supplies. But just as she lit her wand, a solid, man-shaped shadow detached itself from the walkway and began to move rapidly toward her, causing a sudden and horrible swooping sensation gut.

Hermione's feet propelled her instinctively away from the shadow before her mind could even process what she was doing. She ran through the stacks toward the doors, sending a badly aimed impediment jinx behind her, the red light bursting against a shelf when the shadow dodged. Reality flashed in and out as it was replaced by memories of running between taller shelves filled with glowing glass spheres falling and shattering around her. There was no where for her to go but sideways down the aisle and maybe she could weave her way toward the exit. There seemed to be only one of them. Just make it to the doors and she could find help. She twisted and turned her way in the general direction of the main doors as fast as she could, all the while shooting glances behind her and seeing nothing but moonlight and darkness. Hermione finally made it back to the walkway, the doors in sight and closer than ever, but she didn't slow.

Heavy footsteps thundered just behind, growing closer and closer until she felt a strong hand grip her arm and yank her around, her wand clattering to the floor. Hermione didn't stop to think, she fought back – kicking and clawing and pulling as the hands on her shoulders sought to subdue her. "Let me go! Let me go!" she screamed. A voice, deep and harsh, was yelling at her, but she couldn't comprehend the words. She was lashing out, twisting her body and jerking her arms away, when the loud voice in her ear finally penetrated, "… ger! Ms. Granger! Get a hold of yourself, girl!"

She froze at once, her arms raised above her head, her chest heaving, her entire body leaning so far backwards that the only thing keeping her upright were the two hands holding her. "Ms. Granger, are you quite finished?" a familiar, furious voice asked.

"I-" no words came. She began to lower her arms, eyes slowly coming into focus on the face before her.

"What is the meaning of this demented display?" the angry voice demanded. "Well? Answer me, girl!"

"I- I thought…" and to Hermione's horror, her vision swam again, this time with tears. "I thought that you were-" she couldn't finish because of the sob lodged tightly in her throat.

"You thought that I was what?" he hissed, jerking her forward none to gently by the shoulders and she had to grab at the front of his robes to keep from falling over. Professor Snape was gazing down at her with absolute disdain. He'd imagined, for a brief, shining moment, that the girl had respected him, even liked him and here she was, practically fighting tooth and nail to get away from him one on one.

"I thought you were one of those men," she whispered brokenly, tears spilling hotly down her cheeks, not letting go of his robes. "One of the Death Eaters from that night at the Ministry. That they somehow got in here." Snape could barely heard her through the chattering of her teeth and the tension- the fury in his expression, melted away, though she couldn't see it through her tears. Hermione was shaking violently all over, as if she had taken a winter dip in the lake. "I f-fell asleep and dreamt about it. There was no escaping a-and when I woke up it was dark and cold like that- like the Hall of Prophecies and- and-"

"Enough." He spoke- voice gruff, but very, very quiet. "Come." He led her in the dark to a nearby chair, nearly shoving her into the seat. "Stay here," he ordered and lit his wand, striding down the walkway. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, still shivering, but steadily coming back to her senses. Did she really just have a total breakdown in front of Professor Snape? Oh, Merlin help her, she really did.

When he returned a moment later, carrying her notes, writing supplies and book, he was scowling. "Professor Snape, I am truly sorr-"

"Follow me," he sneered and walked toward the doors.

She instantly stood on watery knees following him unsteadily out of the library and into the torch lit hallway. He walked quickly. Hermione followed him, a few paces behind, down several flights of stairs, past the empty Great Hall, and down the dungeon steps. She was uncharacteristically silent even as they walked into his office. "Sit." He motioned to an uncomfortable looking chair in front of his desk, on which he placed her possessions. Hermione shuffled toward the seat and placed herself into it slowly as he walked toward his own, much more comfortable looking desk chair. "House elf," he barked, causing her to jump.

With a loud crack, a wide eyed, button nosed house elf appeared beside her, causing her to jump again. "You called, Master Professor Snape?"

"Tea for two please, something calming," he intoned. Hermione's surprised eyes shot to his face, but he showed no expression besides mild irritation.

"Yes, sir, right aw- Oh, but, sir! Is not food and drink stuffs not to be allowed in the Potion Master's work spaces, sir? 'No foods or drinksies in office or labs,' you says." The elf only looked a little scared to be questioning Snape's request so

Professor Snape muttered something that sounded like "damn" to Hermione's ears, but she wasn't sure. "Fine. In my sitting room, then." The elf nodded and with another loud crack, disappeared. Snape sighed and moved toward the door on the right wall. He mumbled a few words, flicked his wand over the handle, and the door gently swung open with a small creak as he walked into the room beyond.

Hermione simply stared after him, wondering what in the world was going on when he barked again impatiently, "Well come on, girl."

She stood shakily and, as she walked through the mysterious door, it closed gently behind her with a click. It was a tiny sitting room, complete with requisite cheery fireplace, a faded green rug over the stone floor, book shelves all around, and a single, shabby grey sofa. There were no windows, but two open doors led to a bedroom and a dark bathroom. On every surface lay books and periodicals including the heavy wooden coffee table and the cushions of the sofa. Professor Snape levitated every book with another muttered charm and they stacked themselves neatly in a flutter of pages beneath the coffee table instead. "Sit," he grumbled again, gesturing to the now bare three-seater. And she did as she was told, sitting on one end, her eyes gravitating toward one of the dimly lit doorways and the unmade bed. Noticing the subject of her curiosity he did not sit, but hastened across the room to shut the bedroom door. For a short time they remained like that, him standing and her sitting, facing each other awkwardly, not knowing quite what to say in such a situation.

They were saved by a discreet pop and a tinkling of china, a tea tray appeared on coffee table. "Should I pour, sir?" Hermione asked faintly when he made no move toward the tray. He seemed to start, then frowned.

"Show me your hands," he demanded. She did and they both couldn't fail to notice the rather marked tremble and he pursed his lips. Hermione folded her hands into her lap to hide them. "I think not. There is no need to stain my furniture with the tea that you'd be bound to spill." He sighed. "Here," he marched over resolutely and ensconced himself on the opposite side of the sofa, and began to pour two cups of tea as Hermione began to busy herself making a plate of little sandwiches and biscuits.

Snape handed her the steaming cup of delicious smelling tea. Hermione murmured a thank you and took a deep draught of the still hot beverage. He'd stirred in just a little sugar, just as she like it. He watched as she closed her eyes in bliss and sighed heavily, keeping the cup beneath her nose to breathe in the comforting scent.

They both turned their gazes to the glowing fire as they sat silently together. There, in the warmth from the fire in Professor Snape's private sitting room, sipping tea and nibbling on a sandwich, Hermione found herself relaxing. The icy terror and adrenaline that had so gripped her only minutes ago slowly melted away, though a heavy cloud of mortification seemed to settle over her instead.

She glanced at him over her tea. What he must think of her. She couldn't hold back a little sniffle. "I'm so embarrassed," Hermione admitted finally as she set her cup down.

"Don't be," he solemnly murmured back.

She stared hard at the professor for a moment, searching his expression. Hermione nodded minutely at what she found there. Then, she settled further into the surprisingly soft cushions while Snape his arms to rest on the back and padded arm of the sofa.

There it was again, for both of them. That strange and wonderful feeling of coming home- of finding refuge from the raging storm. Both quietly pondered the reasonings behind this recurring response to one another, but drew blanks.

Being there, just sitting near each other, was so simple and startlingly natural that it wasn't even a question that they both felt the same.

Hermione leaned her head back and sighed, unknowingly exposing smooth column of her throat to Snape's gaze. "I have this theory," she grumbled, "that if I were to create the wizarding equivalent to psychotherapy one day, I'd be a very rich woman."

He chuckled. "Sound theory. The wizarding world is in need of some excellent psychotherapists."

"I know I am," she smiled wryly.

"Precisely." A corner of his mouth twitched upward and they sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

"I have this other theory." She bit her bottom lip. "Non-therapy related."

He quirked a dark eyebrow.

"I think that every dark creature has an opposite light creature."

He blinked at her in a way that said, 'Whaa?' "Explain."

"Well, if my research is correct, then a dark creature is differentiated from other magical beings and animals by their purpose. Magical beings that are dark exist solely to actively do harm. Correct?"

Snape nodded.

"Then shouldn't there be creatures that exist solely to be helpful in some way."

"So you think that they must be paired?" He shook his head skeptically. "There are very few creatures recorded that exist solely to benefit wizards, Granger."

"Then perhaps not to benefit just wizards, but the magical world in general. My notes indicate that these creatures, the dark or the light, couldn't have been created or grown by wizards and must have originated from far older magic. And a major characteristic of most ancient magics is their duality. Good, bad. Destructive, healing. Dark, light." Hermione was really on a roll. "These dark creatures must get all of this research done on them because they obviously cause significant and very conspicuous harm. The squeaky wheel and all that." She paused to gauge his reaction.

Snape nodded thoughtfully. "Interesting. What are your sources to support this theory?" A thrill shot through her. He thought her theory was interesting! And he actually wanted to know _more_!

And so, Hermione Granger, 6th year Gryffindor and one-third of the Golden Trio, and Severus Snape, DADA teacher and Head of Slytherin house, spent their Christmas Eve night in deep conversation regarding magical creatures, their discussion interspersed with an occasional heated debate on some points. He laughed out loud when she'd, without thinking, replied rather cattily to one of his barbs and she blushed bright scarlet, though she felt a glow of pleasure inside. Snape found himself very easily forgetting the precariousness of his position and his responsibilities in watching Hermione speak. He noticed that her hair frizzed when she became irritated and that her cheeks tinged pink when she was pleased. But mostly he noticed her expressions - every emotion was clear on her features. In his world of constant double speak and shielding one's true thoughts, she was like that first clear breath of air after nearly drowning.

Hours passed unnoticed for the pair ensconced contentedly together on his couch. It wasn't until Snape saw her shiver and yawn for the tenth time in five minutes that he realized the fire had burned down to mere embers and it was past midnight.

"It is late," he interrupted Hermione's tirade on where werewolves fall on the spectrum of dark and light.

"Oh." She glanced around for a clock. "Is it?"

His eyes found the small timepiece on a wall near the kitchenette and was shocked. "Nearly three am."

"Merlin! Is it really?" She unfolded her legs from beneath her and stifled another yawn. Hermione raised her clasped hands above her head and arched her back in a lazy stretch that drew Snape's eyes to the curves beneath her clothes.

He dragged his eyes away and stood abruptly. "You'd best head back to your rooms, Ms. Granger," he said stiffly, mentally berating himself for allowing himself to get so comfortable as to forget that she was his student. "Curfew passed hours ago. You shouldn't be here."

Hermione stood as well, noticing his sudden coldness and couldn't guess the reason. She felt a sharp pang of disappointment. Hermione's previously tiny crush had developed in the course of a few hours into something a bit more serious. "I'm sorry, sir," she replied barely hiding her hurt. "You're right. I shouldn't have overstayed my welcome."

He said nothing as he watched her quickly sweep up her belongings into her arms and nearly run to the door with a growing, sinking feeling of loss.

Hermione was two steps from the door when he called out, "Wait." She turned around to see him striding swiftly toward her. Snape removed the book and parchment from her arms, as she watched him with wide eyes, and tucked them beneath his own arm. "I'll escort you there."

Her answering smile was so sweet that he knew he was in trouble, but couldn't find it in himself to give a damn.

"By the way," she said as they walked side by side down the dungeon corridor, "Happy Christmas."

* * *

AN: Yes, yes, why not a 'hominem revelio' in the library? I'm just going to assume that our little miss know it all had not learned that particular spell yet. She doesn't use it until the next book, I think.

Please review! I really, really, really love and appreciate ALL feedback from you (good and bad)!


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